The Life of Lavender
by BumbleLellie
Summary: during the battle of Hogwarts, Lavender Brown stops- well, a werewolf stops her, and she's forced to confront the ugly truths and beautiful memories of her life. The story of our favourite ex-girlfriend of Ron and her perceptions of life and how it's all past. One-shot on what makes Lavender Brown tick, and what did she want from Hogwarts.


**So, Lavender Brown is a greatly underrated character- I very much like her characterisation (probably because we share a lot of the same weaknesses). And this is my first one-shot story, about how I perceive the rest of her tale to be, it starts at the battle of Hogwarts.**

I never intended all this sadness to happen. Particularly didn't want it for those others who never deserved to suffer like I do. Oh god, what happened to me? Throughout my life I tried, I swear I did. I tried to be like the other children; played their games, dressed like them, spoke like them. But it was never enough. I was never good enough for anyone.

You won't see my name in the history books. Not like theirs. I was never good enough to be one of them, but I didn't have to be, the world didn't make me Granger or a Weasley or a Potter or a Longbottom, it made me a Brown. A mundane and common name for someone unable to fit into the normality so naturally associated with it.

The muggle children on my road wouldn't accept me because of my fascination with magic and non-existent creatures, they couldn't accept that I was a witch, even if they never knew that's what they despised in me. And the wizards could never accept me because of my muggle style and language, they couldn't accept the muggle in me. I'd later learn there are worse things than being a half-blood.

I learnt if I changed who I was, became the person people wanted me to be, they'd look at me with an almost fondness. My parents were not unsupportive, they were lovely people. My father, who himself had had a strict muggle upbringing, highly prized the ability to understand both worlds, and succeed equally well in both. This included primary school, which in itself included reports. I was never a bad child, nor was I a stupid one, I just had an affinity for staring out the window dreamily when I ought to listen. My father's lip would go straight as he was told this each year, and he'd suggest I pay more attention sternly, thinly hiding his disappointment that none of the other children behaved this way.

Sometimes I miss them. As their only-child, born in the midst of a war, I was spoilt as a precious reminder of the defeat of he-who-must-not-be-named. What they lacked in emotional affection, my parents tried to buy with material means. The pride of mother was shown in her purchase of colourful ribbons to put in my long curly blonde hair. When she looked at me, she was happy, but when she looked at _me _she could never be so. My looks became my saving grace, so I wasn't good at school or I could act spoilt, but they had a beautiful child who reminded them that he-who-must-not-be-named is dead.

When I started school, I lost the shelter of two parents who resented my core, and stepped into a world which resented me instead. My intelligence hardly fared better than at Muggle School, averaging an average score despite my hardest tries. My courage, Godric knows, wasn't as diminished as the first years who cried –but nor was I brave enough to talk to anybody. So I focused on my looks. And from that I made a friend.

It may seem unfair to say that my best friend is shallow, particularly as I may never see her again, but our friendship was initially based on mutual respect for each other's efforts to stand out. It seemed silently redundant to rival one another as 'the pretty one' due to our contrasting appearances, so instead we decided to partner-up. Even so, our superficial basis for friendship soon became deeper than that, we began becoming real friends as if I wasn't someone that could never be loved. Parvati knew what it was like to be under appreciated and treated like being intelligent was the only thing that matters, she was competing with a smarter version of herself, Padma.

When I went back home that first Christmas, I found only the loneliness of home-life with the parents who wished I was anything but myself, so I avoided them owling my friend instead. I regret that now, I'd only have five more Christmases with them. They love me, and I never believed it, I know it now. After all the wrongs they've done to me, I still love them, it's funny that. How unconditional it can be. I won't talk about my parents anymore, they weren't a part of my life until the holidays. They were the people I have vague memories of buying me pets and tucking me in with tales of the women I should be like.

It's funny how quickly 'going back home' changes its meaning from 'going to my parents' to 'returning to Hogwarts'. After forth year, Hogwarts was my home. The love and family I had were given to me. And then _He _returned, and Parvati's parents tried to make her stay home, and I was angry. I was angry at Potter.

Harry potter ruined everything, and I hated him. Because of Harry Potter, Parvati owled me furiously, the parchment stained in fearful tears of lonely confusion. Because of Harry Potter, the boy who had smiled the whole time at the Yule Ball with me nearly didn't come back either. Because of Harry Potter, they nearly left me. Because of Harry Potter, my own parents could no longer look at me with the comforting reminder that_ He_ was gone. Because of Harry Potter, I was nothing to them now. I realised how close I was to losing everything.

Who did he think he was to play the hero yet again and ruin it all? It didn't take long for me to calm down, deep down we all knew Harry was the biggest victim of us all. It seems weird to pity someone like Potter, knowing his hardships and his strengths, the former is always ignored. Harry Potter was unstoppable, and he gave me a family. The DA was my family.

If fifth year was hell, Sixth year was worse. The summer before it began, I remember sitting in my parents' house's kitchen, eating toast quietly. My father read the paper, first muggle and then wizard, until he stopped and looked at me. He asked me why I hadn't been one of the heroes who went to the ministry to fight Voldemort. Something inside me burned.

So he wanted me to be one of the fabulous three, potentially die in some battle and be a hero. At least now I knew what I was working toward to please him. I don't know why it was so important for me to impress him, to prove to him that I could do it, but I had to. Sixth year, I put all my effort into being the girl Ronald Weasley wanted. And I got him. Ronald, like Parvati and I, shared that instant connection from being one of the overlooked. Admitting it now I used this against him, making him feel that same sense of self-pride I myself got when one person gave me their full attention. So yes, we kissed and we talked, and when my father found out I had got THE Weasley I imagined a massive amount of pride on his face. But my victory was somewhat short-lived, I forgot to factor in one thing: Hermione Granger.

And Hermione Granger was all the things I could never be. She was smart. She was courageous. She was one of the fabulous three. She was actually sort of pretty. She was at the ministry the night tha- you know what, you get it. Hermione was better than me. And as Ronald started drifting back to her, I mean who wouldn't, I began clinging on. Ron just didn't understand that I needed this, I need him, or I could never make my parents want me. But I was dumped, left to crawl back into my hole of self-loathing.

It seems so dramatic now, so petty. Trying to find acceptance when a war broke out shortly after. But that's where we are now, we're at seventh year. And I came into my own.

The first of September, I hug my parents goodbye, we play the part of a family. Nearby I see Seamus and Neville whispering with the brightly coloured hair of Ginny. When I walk toward the compartment, Seamus holds under my elbow and leans in. ''New teachers death eaters. DA still on.'' Then he kisses me on my cheek and looks pointedly at a lone black figure surveying the students, I realise how close we look- like lovers after the summer months apart, and my face burns.

It's from this experience that I come up with the idea of spreading the news of the DA, acting as a somewhat promiscuous student, I told twenty previous members the message. Seamus did the girls and I tried not to let it threaten my special individuality. After all he only thought of getting close enough to kiss _me_, it was my idea for him to go kiss the others.

The first evening I went up to the dormitories to get some summer souvenir that seemed so important was the final punch in the gut. The warm beds of Parvati, Fay and I looked inviting as always, but the empty sheets of Melissa and Hermione's made the room suddenly colder and emptier than it had ever been. I could no longer pretend Hogwarts was my home.

It took me ten whole minutes to realise that this dormitory might not be the emptiest. I ran to the boys' without even thinking. Stood in an awkward silence, Neville and Seamus stared at the five beds, unmoving even at the sound of my heavy heeled footfalls. I coughed and said some vague comforting message to which they both looked at me, one pink with anger at the system, the other with wet eyes. I held them both. And somehow we were all crying over the losses, the war, the sadness in our lives. We held onto each other and mourned, knowing we'd have to be the strong ones now that they'd gone. We were weak for that one night.

One month in and nothing. The rebellion of the students inflicted masses of detentions and letters home, the undercurrent of the calm before the storm left the elder ones of us wondering what punishment they'd think of. Cockily we thought nothing could be worse than Dolores' sadistic quills. As if they'd be that subtle. When the establishment realised that detentions and threats were empty on those of us who had endured far worse sufferings, aided perhaps by the total lack of howlers from parents in a silent plea to encourage their children's behaviour, they went big. I'm not saying I'm squeamish, but the Cruciatous Curse is no laughing matter.

Obviously Neville rebelled first. Even with this threat. No wonder really, seeing as what it meant to him. They knew that too, and knew we were just as scared of the same thing happening to Neville as it did to his parents. So they made it public. After all 'ittle firsties' can't imagine what it looks like. At the sight of Neville's convulsing body over dinner, and even his piercing screams when you turned away, a great number of people were deterred from our revolt.

Zacharias Smith had always been a little shit, but even I have to admit he pulled his socks up. That's a Hufflepuff thing though, isn't it? Loyalty. Intense loyalty. He stood up to the Carrows first, who'd have thought. I hope he's fighting still…

Seamus stood up to them next, I was nearly sick when I heard his chair move back as he stood. I was sick when I saw them torture him. 'No'. As simple as that. Pain. That merciless man wouldn't stop until he lost consciousness, then forbade any interference from the teachers. We were just kids, what were we supposed to do- just children. Children in a war.

I rest his head on my knees and washed away any blood, fixing his small injuries whenever it happened from that day on. I can fix broken arms now. Last year I couldn't fix a toe. It didn't matter how much I pleaded with him to have a rest and let his body recover for a month before he stood up again. He told me I didn't understand.

I stood up three times myself. I'm not proud that it wasn't more, but I was scared and human and we had enough people to heal without losing a person who can fix the injuries she sustained along with others. It wasn't practical for me to me tortured, that's what I have to think. Because I'm ashamed? It hurt like hell though, like fire spreading across your body, radiating from inside. But as the numbers started dropping as everyone had to hide for protection, we started losing the people who stood up. Neville, Seamus, Zacharias, Ginny…even Colin! So I stood in.

And the first two times I did, I'd wake up on the knees of a certain Irish boy, his cocky sideways grin pulling my own mouth into a gentle smirk, betraying the warm tears on my cheeks that didn't belong to me. And he'd hold my hand and tell me stories of a beautiful princess dressed in lavender as I drifted back off into sweet oblivion.

Then I got in too deep for stories and superficial bruisings. In the great hall, Alecto asked the Gryffindors, well taunted really, about who wanted to play a 'game'. She literally gleamed at the helpless first years, out stretching her hand in picking, and Seamus spoke up. 'Pick me instead…_professor_', which was ridiculous he could hardly walk, barely breathe. 'I think I'd rather a younger year' she smirked and turned away, greedily eyeing the first years. 'I said pick me, coward' her rage was evident before she'd even got to her wand. And I knew _that_ much hatred in one curse would finish him off.

And before I knew what I was doing I'd sort of hugged Seamus in a protective self-shield and I saw the shock in his eyes before the pain took over. I screamed, and I screamed, but I held fast to Seamus protecting him. Alecto kicked my fingers and pulled me off as my grip waned, standing on me like some twisted victorious conqueror. Her heeled boots forced down into my chest, until the sickening cracks. Daddy would be proud.

The day after my most serious torturing, I lay propped up in the Gryffindor seventh year boys dormitories, totally unaware of the reason for the pain I felt. When I realised it must have been the Carrows, I opened my eyes and looked around. The non-moving posters around me told me I was in Dean's old bed. Had Seamus actually let me sleep here? My chest was bandaged, and I noticed blushing the tight parallel lines of the bandages indicated to Parvati's work, not Seamus'. Broken ribs maybe? I sighed, and it hurt. Looking across the room I could see the struggling rise and fall of blankets on Seamus' bed. Struggling?

I manoeuvred myself, with much pain and much exhaustion, out of the bed. And limped, holding onto everything, gritting my teeth in pure determination. And I got there, and more or less gracefully collapsed beside him, feeling his warm breath on my face. Much better. My lack of delicacy had obviously woken him, but we said nothing to one another. He just looked up at me with those wide sea eyes, reflecting my own longing for comfort. Wordlessly he slipped the blanket around us both and pulled me in, wincing at the tears that sprang to my eyes. And we lay there. Consoling each other. Recovering together.

Sometimes I wonder if he felt it too, that pang of need whenever something was wrong, which let's face it was most often than not nowadays. It took me three days to be able to get out of bed unaided, and even longer to look Alecto Carrow in the eyes. And I moved to the Room of Requirement. Seamus and I, we didn't talk about that night. I had been told what happened and my fuzzy mind filled in the rest.

School wasn't the same anymore. Instead of homework and magazines, Parvati and I applied ourselves to studying healing spells and defence charms. In my own time I worked on divination, trying to perceive some sort of comfort from the future, but the future it seemed was cloudy and bleak.

I got a letter one day at breakfast. My parents were dead. And as I cried and was comforted by my friends, who too had lost so many and so much to this war already, I felt the fear set in for good. This was reality. Seamus spoke soft words to me. Just like after I lost poor Binky. It took me to a time long forgotten, a time where I wore my ribbons with vain-filled pride and glared at everyone so I deterred anyone at looking too closely at my blank personality. I was not allowed bereavement so I wore my bright yellow hair ribbons with Gryffindor pride and glared at anyone against our cause.

My story is nearly over. And it makes me feel inexplicably scared. Scared to finish this and get to the end. What's after the end, I wonder? If I go back there…more pain? Or if I go..there..instead, would they miss me? What a silly thing to muse, to wonder if a silly girl like me would be missed. When real heroes have fallen here tonight.

Two days before the battle it came to light, all the tension. Somewhere I felt the change coming, something drastic, only I supposed it was losing a member of the DA. So I warned them all, and implored Seamus to lie low, told him to be careful. He wouldn't give me half a week without risking his life. He said I didn't understand. So this time I told him he was the one who didn't understand.

You don't have to wait and pray that _you_ are alive. You don't have to fix the person you care about just to send them straight back into the firing line. You don't have to see the pain and hurt multiply each day, to see the burden they choose to carry. –As if I have a choice, he said- You do have a choice! You let no one in, you share this burden alone. I can't stand to see you dying in front of me every other day, you don't understand what it's like to see the man I knew consumed by this misery-

He said he did, said he saw me fling myself in front of him, and that wasn't the worst of it. After all he saw me every day. Wasting away before him. My wall fell and I sobbed pathetically, hating every fibre of his being, hating everything he put me through. Hating him for making me give a rat's arse. For the first time I wished I was back home in that cold house with those cold people, constructing happy illusions of love.

He kissed me then. Properly this time, not just relaying a message under scrutiny. And it was everything a first kiss shouldn't be; rushed, fearful and full of unexplainable anguish. But it was all we had, so we took it.

Throughout my entire life, I acted like a victim. But that god forsaken year had thrown that all away, who was I? Who was Lavender Brown? No use hiding behind the monotone of your name, when there's colour in it too. I had to think bright. Had to remain colourful. As long as there's colour in me I'm alive. So me and my adopted family, we resisted and we prepared, together.

Neville. Parvati. Ginny. Padma. Colin. Zacharias. Ernie. Hannah. Susan. Michael. Cormac. Dennis. Katie. Nigel. Romilda. Anthony. Cho. Terry. Leanne. Seamus.

Harry came back, of course. Gave us some instructions, it seems so far away but it must've been only hours ago. What did he say? What was he searching for? The rest is blurs, Snape leaving somewhere in the back of my mind, Professor Lupin running past me, Trelawney and her crystal balls. There. That's when it happened. The floor disappeared beneath me and I was falling though nothing, and then crack, and then the pain.

Blood throbbed in my head and somewhere I was annoyed I was getting my pink ribbon bloody. Then a flash of teeth and hair, and more pain. Burning pain. Hot and tormenting. Suddenly a scream, my own scream? No. Soft brown eyes looked down at me, wet and muttering something. The pain subdued some, and I let go. I never said thank you. I never said goodbye.

Then I'm here.

If I let go now, I'd see my family again, the parents I lost understanding with long ago. The ones who claimed love but only ever gave me hurdles to jump through. I've fought now, I'm a hero. We could reconcile, like we'd never have had time to if I live. We could fix it. I could be with them, let my mother tie white ribbons in my hair and let my father gloat all about me. A little angel.

Or I could fight to stay here. Claw my way out of heaven and struggle to breathe again, back to the pain, the sharp, sharp pain. I could return to the battle. Only I don't know what I'd be returning too; good or evil. A world full of misery, repression and fear? A world full of new beginnings, hope and safety? Either world has him. I can feel he's still fighting.

I choose pain. Because the world doesn't matter as long as he's in it.

But I'm still scared.

Seamus, oh Seamus.


End file.
